


Nicotine and Bloodstains

by hexadicdecay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22479748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexadicdecay/pseuds/hexadicdecay
Summary: Love - of any kind - was never part of the equation. There were higher-ups and rivalries and violence and death - falling for someone was a ridiculous, indulgent fantasy he visited when everything seemed to be going right. That or when everything was falling apart entirely.He kind of hated the idea, to be entirely honest. Investing the time and energy to break down someone’s defences, and the vulnerability of having the same done to him was terrifying. Maybe a little exciting, but mostly terrifying. There were hundreds of reasons he could never, ever make that leap, allow himself to stumble.But it had already happened, as much as Crowbar would wish it away.It had all started with that stupid goddamn kiss.
Relationships: Crowbar/Spades Slick
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Keet for being my beta reader! Keep being great, you funky little cryptid.

Back when there were more gangs in Midnight City than The Felt and The Crew, there were a couple small time gangs vying for the crown. Everybody wanted to be the big dogs in town, have the most politicians on their payroll. It was a bloody mess, literally and figuratively. The only ones who seemed to be keeping their heads above water with no (permanent) casualties so far were The Felt and The Crew; everyone in town had stakes on one or the other coming out on top. 

But there was one night, one grizzly encounter, where that confidence faltered.

Scratch had the whole crew holding down a stock house. In all regards, an easy job, shouldn’t last more than a few hours tops before the goods were shipped out and they’d all head back to the Manor to order some takeout before the restaurants closed for the night. Matchsticks and Quarters were usually pretty reliable, he could leave them to their own devices without disaster. Sawbuck, Eggs, Biscuits and Cans needed a task to keep them from fucking up the timeline, which was pretty easy. He’d left the oven at home, commandeered Egg’s timer and gave strict orders for no roughhousing on duty. Die’s disasters were usually self contained to his own emotional state, and unless shit started to go down he really wasn’t all that necessary. Fin and Trace, without so much as a peep from Crowbar, had slunk off to cover the grounds, what happened after that he really didn’t want or need to know as long as he could count on them to show if things got hairy. Itchy and Clover... He may have given those two strict orders not to cause a ruckus or he’d order food for everyone but them, but threats never really sunk in with those two. Stitch was set up at Felt Manor reluctantly awaiting the day’s grim tasks. Snowman had predictably disappeared as soon as the car had stopped.

That just left him.

Now that everyone had their orders, Crowbar decided to indulge in a moment to himself. This night should wrap up without any shenanigans, at least from anyone outside the gang. The jury was still out on whether any of these morons would need medical attention by the time the night was over. Lighting the end of the cigarette was a release, the first hit of nicotine a blessing. His shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily against the door of the stock house in some semblance of keeping guard.

* * *

The first scream echoed out like a gunshot, it might as well have been for how high Crowbar jumped.

“God fucking damn it- SO HELP ME GOD IF I GET OUT OF HERE--!”

Itchy’s complaints reassured Crowbar just a touch, he wasn’t hurt enough to not bitch. He followed the stream of curses to find Itchy, hanging from the ceiling by his ankle. The whole situation would probably be funny in hindsight, but in this instant it was terrifying. Whatever enemy they were facing knew the gang, well enough to know all of the speed was in Itchy’s legs, not his brain. Crowbar cast a furtive look around, the rope that held Itchy was way out of his reach, he needed one of these idiots to cut him down. Being a frog down against an unknown enemy certainly didn’t make him any less anxious about the whole situation.

Bounding down from the crates, no concern for safety, came the savior of the moment. “Got yourself all wound up before the fun even begins, Itchy?” Clover seemed more smug than usual as he cast an obnoxious pout at the steel beam the rope was tied to, far above any of their heads. Both looked equally horrified and Itchy almost managed to voice his concerns before Clover’s gleefully mocking interjected. “Sure don’t make em’ like they did, huh?”

Like he’d said the magic word, the joints and rivets began to creak and groan,and a shower of rust floated down to rest on the ground before the end of the beam tumbled down into the piles of crates below, earning a round of surprised shouts from the growing crowd of Felt members. Itchy definitely airs whatever grievances he has with Clover’s action now, screaming curses and flailing wildly while the beam creaks ominously under the strain. This oh-so-conveniently plunges the screaming Itchy down, down towards the unforgiving concrete floor with another scream.

He bounced once as the rope hurried to catch up with its sudden downwards trajectory and found his face mere centimeters from the cold floor. A pathetic whimper came from the stunned Itchy before he tumbled to the ground like a rag doll, Crowbar having cut the rope that held him aloft.

The rest of the gang had gathered at this point, looking around with suspicious eyes. They all chimed in with voices filled with worry, building higher and higher until Crowbar hefted his signature weapon. “We’ve got company. Spread out and find em’.”

An echo of agreement sounded before the group dispersed, mostly heading off in pairs. Itchy’s wounded pride took more hits as Clover gleefully took shots at his previous predicament. Snowman surprisingly nodded in time to Die’s various distressed cries, woe-is-me and all that. He was secretly glad he didn’t have to deal with that stream of complaints, but more surprised that Snow of all folks would listen. The rest paired off in their regular teams, all trying in vain not to look worried. They’d all come to the same conclusion Crowbar had; whoever their enemy was, they certainly didn’t have the element of surprise.

* * *

From behind a stack of crates, Crowbar could hear the faintest of murmurs. Approaching cautiously with with his crowbar at the ready, he turned the corner and immediately brought his weapon down hard upon the unsuspecting victim. Of course, it could have easily been one of his gang, but The Felt were hardier than that. Stitch could patch em’ up as easily as Crowbar could whack em’, it was just another thing that put The Felt above all the rest of the ruckus.

A yelp sounded and the poor sap fell like a sack of potatoes, Crow was on them in an instant. “Really didn’t think The Crew had the brains to set traps for us, let alone find this warehouse. What’s the plan, Slick? Steal the shipment an’ fence it off to whoever bites?”

Spades Slick, despite the good old fashioned drubbing he’d received, was conscious and more than anything, furious. Despite the wound on his forehead which was bleeding quite profusely, he writhed and kicked at the man holding him to the ground, finding Crowbar’s grip a mite harder to escape while disoriented. Another concussion, most likely. Boxcars was going to have his ass on a plaque if he knew he’d tallied up another, but that was just part of the game. “Lemme the fuck GO, y’ goddamn moron! I’m not here to jack your fucking tchotchkes so let me the hell up!”

Crowbar looked dubious, then just plain confused. “I’ll bite, what are you here for if not the weapons? We do have an agreement to play nice on the docks.”

“Weapons?” Spades said curiously, “You know the docks are joint Crew/Felt territory, Kingpin told us...” He stopped, going still under Crowbar as a thought crossed his mind. His expression went from confusion to anger in a split second, making Crowbar’s grip loosen just a smidgen. “Fucking Kingpin. Told us the Rogues were gonna make a move on the stock house.” Spades used the opportunity to break Crowbar’s hold and stand. “We got played.”

Crowbar didn’t make any move to stop Spades, giving a short huff adjacent to a laugh. “You _absolutely_ got played.” Spades snarled in displeasure but didn’t have a retort. “Truce?”

“Truce. Get moving, Crow, gotta make sure my boys don’t kill your dumb fucking frogs.”

* * *

Moving silently through the stacks of crates with Spades at his side, whisper quiet as they padded through the stock house. The first couple goons were easy peasy, barely worth the effort. No one could say Crowbar wasn’t efficient in delivering pain. Spades, however, seemed to over complicate things on purpose, taunting and jeering the mooks while he carved them up with a rhythm only he seemed to hear. If Crow weren’t in denial, he would have called it beautiful. There was something calculated and artful to the way the blades turned in his hands, and dear GPI, the look on Spades’ face. Every flash of blood and scream lit his face with a sick satisfaction that was almost intoxicating to watch. A weaker man would have found this terrifying, but Crowbar was anything but.

The middle of the stock house showed flashes of movement, but was otherwise quiet. Crowbar would have watched for a moment, scoped out the situation and figured out the best plan of action. That was not what happened. Stride determined, Spades walked straight into madness. With a quiet curse, Crowbar followed.

The scene was grisly to say the least. Pools of blood covered the open space, and so did the Felt and Crew. Knocked out or tied up, every single one of them were covered in bruises and lacerations. He froze dead in his tracks, knowing that none of them were in fighting shape. A wave of sympathy hit him like a train, watching his gang suffer. Itchy stared blankly at his legs, contorted and broken beneath him. Clover was uncharacteristically battered, hiccuping sobs that bubbled up despite his efforts to keep them down. Die clutching his doll to his chest despite its mangled state, expression unreadable. It was clear Stitch was attempting damage control, Fin and Trace were in a bad way but the wounds frantically knit themselves together in turns between the two. Even The Crew were down, Boxcars clutching the battered form of Deuce even in the state he was in, snarling fiercely at the remaining thugs. Droog was trying valiantly to stand with the shattered pool stick embedded in his upper thigh. 

Kingpin stood among the carnage, turning from his lackeys and fixing the pair with something so malicious it could hardly be called a smile. Spades seemed to be in the same stupor, but the sight of Crowbar striding determinedly into the fray with weapon drawn seemed to pull him from his daze. Kingpin didn’t seem phased, unmoving as Crowbar advanced.

The gunshot rang out above the frantic static of his thoughts. Not even a noise came from his open mouth as he looked down at the bullet hole with confused eyes, staggering mid-step. One of the lackeys behind Kingpin raised the smoking gun up in still trembling hands, the ecstatic cheer falling on deaf ears.

The moment Crowbar collapsed and went still was the trigger, the spark that lit the flame. Spades Slick, leader of The Midnight Crew, scourge of Midnight City, consequently lost his goddamn mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slick said FUCK Kingpin rights
> 
> in other news this is not a slowburn fic

If one were to pick the moment that changed the tides that day, it would have been this. There was hardly even a break, a moment to realize what had happened before the explosion hit. 

It wasn’t really an explosion, technically, but it might as well have been. All eyes were on the supernova of a man, wreathed in shadowy flames like some sort of avenging angel. White eyes illuminated by deep violet flame pierced through the trembling form that held the gun. They were much less certain in their victory now, to say the least.

Spades took one step forward, the flames obediently licking at his heels and trailing up his form as he advanced. Kingpin’s crew seemed to read the situation and promptly decided escape was their safest option. All but one beat a hasty retreat, even Kingpin was dragged along. 

Spades strode past the fallen Crowbar, hand extended towards the remaining carapacian, their violently trembling hands losing grip of the gun. The sound it made when it hit the floor was deafened by the roar of otherworldly fire.

From his outstretched hand sprung another flame. Spades smiled maniacally as he clenched his fist around it, the violet blaze eagerly wrapped itself around his hand like a living thing. His hand swung around, extending his finger as if he was aiming a gun that pointed at the remaining figure.

“Bang.”

Spades watched eagerly as the carapacian burst into flame.

* * *

Crowbar came back slowly. The pain radiating outwards from where the bullet had hit was intense, but he savoured it all the same. It meant he wasn’t dead yet, at least. He didn’t bother moving, but his head was conveniently lolled in the direction of what he assumed was the action. His vision was still blurry so he couldn’t make out much, though it seemed like it should be exciting. He groaned quietly, hand fumbling out for his crowbar to start the slow process of pulling himself out of the pool of blood and into a more vertical position. He said a quiet thank you to Stitch for managing what was probably the juju equivalent of open heart surgery and felt thread pull taught in response.

There was a whole lot more jostling than he was physically prepared for as a face came into view and his back was lifted from the bloodied concrete. Crowbar made a weak grimace at the blur of motion and colour, less so of the pain. He could deal with that. The sensation of water dripping on his face and someone calling his name roused him back from the quiet place beside consciousness and he tried to focus his vision.

Spades hovered above him, haloed in purple flame and crying, for some reason. He looked equal parts concerned and enraged, which was disconcerting. “M' okay, I swear.” Crowbar muttered, the words strained. “Stitch is patching me up, s’ not a big deal--”

The other looked beyond furious at this, for a moment Crowbar worried that he’d have another hole in his torso courtesy of Spades’ knives but soon he didn’t think anything at all. Spades’ lips were on his and he couldn’t muster so much as a passing thought. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?! I thought you were gone, you sorry son of a bitch!” The words hardly register as Crowbar’s mind frantically tries to play catch up, pain forgotten.

“You just...” He started to question but was cut off, Spades voice almost flustered.

“Shut up.”

“But-”

“I said shut up.”

From behind the two came the clearing of someone’s throat, Slick whirled around with a snarl and knife drawn, ready to gut the stupid fucker who’d dared get within stabbing distance. Die startled with a yelp, taking a couple cautious steps back. “I just... uh. S-sorry.” The poor sap looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, torn doll clutched tightly to his chest. Though Slick’s still bristling menacingly, Crowbar gestures for Die to continue. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever that was but I just wanted to make sure Crowbar was okay and- um, the Crew aren’t looking too good, so I just wanted to point that out. I’ll- uh. I’ll go... check on them or something that isn’t... this.” Die begins to shuffle away but but stops, giving the two a awkward half smile. “Con-congratulations?” Slick flips him the bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but I am also trying REAL HARD not to let this die and I have very little motivation


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mooooore Die because I love my son boy!!
> 
> also sorry for the delay, things... Sure Are Happening Rapidly. Short chapter to get me back in the game.

Somewhere in the list of things Crowbar does not do is get crushes, underlined several times. He does not pine, he does not yearn, and he definitely does not lay awake in bed, thinking about a rival gang member. The thing is, that’s exactly what he’s doing at the moment.

Scratch had surprised all of them, the moment they were all able to stand and move around without keeling over, that is. He didn’t have some self-aggrandizing speech about how this was all part of his master plan, even he seemed kind of puzzled about the attack at the stock house.

But Crowbar wasn’t currently concerned about that.

He was currently trying and failing to not think about Spades Slick and the fact that they’d kissed. Well, maybe that would be better phrased as Spades kissed him seeing as he was too stunned in the moment to reciprocate-- He cut his own mental train of thought short before it could derail entirely. Point of the matter is Spades felt... something towards him and Crowbar-- he didn’t exactly know what he felt, but here he was, replaying that moment the best he could remember (all the blood loss probably didn’t help) and wondered what the hell he should do about this.

Throwing off the covers, Crowbar decided he’d spent enough time thinking and not enough time doing, opening the door as quiet as he could and slipping out into the hall to find a certain leprechaun.

* * *

Die wasn’t exactly hard to track down. He was usually in his room, and if he wasn’t it was just a matter of kicking in enough doors to the spare rooms till he found the mook. And as for the hour, he wasn’t sure Die actually slept, so that wasn’t reason for delaying his interrogation.

He rapped a hand on Die’s door, hearing the tell-tale sound of surprise and a rapid clatter as things were hastily shoved away. Crowbar let him have till the count of seven to clear out whatever occult bullshit he was messing around with before he entered the room, revealing Die, still in his Felt getup, frozen mid-way through shoving an enormous leather bound tome underneath a bare mattress on the floor. 

With a long suffering sigh, Crowbar simply waved his hand dismissively. Die left the book where it was and stood, hands wringing as he addressed Crowbar.

“I didn’t think you’d-- I mean, uh. What a nice surprise, you. Being here. In my room at... Is it morning yet? I can’t tell.” Die gestured over at the window, which was hastily boarded over. Crowbar definitely was going to make him fix that later, but for now there were more pressing issues.

“It’s not morning yet. You, uh. Saw the whole... thing with Spades, right?”

“Y-yes, uh- My apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I didn’t even know you two were- uh. Are you two even in a charm, or is it one of those odd quadrant things those carapacians are so insistent on?”

Crowbar’s face coloured over and before Die could launch into another wave of apologies, he cut the man off. “It’s- it’s fine. We’re not in charms or quadrants, I wasn’t even aware he felt like that before... Well, what happened. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t blabbed to the entire Felt.”

“N-no! I wouldn’t-- I don’t--!” Crowbar looked at him with doubt plain in his eyes and Die broke, looking terribly upset while he fidgeted anxiously with his gloves. “Ok, ok, Itchy may have noticed I looked a tad, uh. Nervous. After everyone got patched up. I didn’t want to tell him but he hid my doll and then he kept calling me a teacher’s pet and then--” Die jumped when Crowbar walked the short distance between them to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a small smile playing at his lips.

“It’s okay. Itchy’s... Itchy. I’ll deal with him later, but I’m not mad. If anything I shouldn’t have expected you to keep something like that from the rest of the team, and--”

This time, it was Die’s turn to cut the other off. “N-no, I know I shouldn’t have told him. I want- I want you to trust me with things like this, I’m sorry.” Die looks uncharacteristically steadfast in his resolve, not even shying away from the hand that’s still hovering on his shoulder. Usually he’s not a touchy person, Crowbar doesn’t miss the significance of this. He chooses not to comment for now, giving Die’s shoulder a brief squeeze.

“Thanks, Die, I really appreciate that. I’ll give Itchy a talking to, see how smart he acts after that.” The smile Crowbar gives him is genuine and warm, Die returning it as best he can while looking over the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Die and Crowbar are in moons. I will not accept criticism thank you.


End file.
